Stages of Domesticity

I always feel that if someone else can do it, I can do it too. This applies to every aspect in life.

So, many ladies need to whip up a meal for the household. Alright, cook did I. Nothing fanciful but decent enough.

But when it comes to cleaning, I am motivated solely to have a clean bathroom. So I zealously scrub my "throne" and make sure that the basin area is kept spiffy, dry and nice. This is tending specifically to my personal toilet because I really couldn't bring myself to labour similarly on 5 other units in the house. (Apart from the common bathroom, the rest are all unused. Phew!)

Chinese New Year is around the corner and there's this nagging feeling that if I were to neglect other nooks and crannies, I will be a very embarrassed host when people open my storeroom, kitchen cabinets and examined my window panes and the accompanying grooves closely. And there's certainly no feel good factor if at the back of your mind, there's unattended mess building up somewhere.

So, it's my fortune to have a good friend refer her part-time helper to assist my household for operation cleanup. It's been 1 hour since she has been at work in my kitchen and "Omigod! What she has done in an hour, I will take 5 to achieve!"

Is it the lack of motivation for housework or I am just a plain slow coach? I really think it's the former.

In future, I shall not be adamant. Admit that although I can do things just like others could, some things are better left to the professionals in their respective fields.

This moment of enlightenment makes me feel very liberated.

Tick Tock, Please Stop the Clock!

I wish I had more time in a day. Overheard my director telling someone over the phone that she wished she was given just 1 more hour a day and she would be contented.

I wished I had more time to work on things outside of job related tasks, to improve myself, to make my days more fruitful--like writing scripts, reading good books and reading the papers--LEISURELY.

I know it's not possible. So, apart from using up sleeptime (this is not recommended) and striking time wasting activities off from the schedule, I guess I have to speed up to free up time for my 'Want to Do' wishlist.

Godspeed then!

The End of the Wick

Another relative is dying. A much beloved uncle. Mum insisted I make the dreaded visit once again. I am not a heartless gal but I had one uncle died on me the previous time (literally when I saw him) and it left much consternation that I may well face a similar situation once again.

I don’t do Death well. I hate seeing dying people because they remind me of the transience of life. Most of the time, I conveniently put this reality at the back of my mind and it comforts me to a great degree.

This visit is particularly heart-wrenching. What greeted me was a wasted heap of a man who was once so handsome he made girls swoon. He was reduced to skin and bones, had hollowed out eyes and the flesh on his back had rotted away as he had been bedridden for a long time. Deaf and unable to speak, his glassy eyes were the only windows to his emotions. But the look he gave was too haunting and it would plague me for a long time to come.

This is a man who has a beautiful house, a supportive wife and 2 lovely daughters. He had spent his life working hard at his business and giving nary much time for his family and his own leisure. What was unfortunate is that a good portion of his wealth is used to finance his medical bills in recent years and he never really had the chance to spend it more meaningfully than he would have liked.

It is painful to see him reduced to being a dependent dying man on his bed. As we went home that day, Dad said something insightful. He said “When asked about their greatest regret on their deathbeds, most would reply that they had not spent enough quality time with their families”.
Bravo Dad! Well said.
It’s true. When one has reached the end of the road, tangible things like money and fame doesn’t really matter anymore. It does put things into perspective.
“Death is a challenge. It tells us not to waste time... It tells us to tell each other right now that we love each other.” ~Leo F. Buscaglia

Next Stop: Wonderland

I was watching a programme on Channel U documenting this famous Singaporean make-up artist called Zing who moved to Hong Kong in 1992 to strike it out on his own. Zing met with success by virtue of his passion and sheer hard work and caused major changes in the makeup, fashion and entertainment scene first with his "bare-faced" looks and then with his creative approach to makeup. His portfolio includes celebrities such as, Faye Wong, Sammi Cheng, Carina Lau and Shu Qi etc. I must say, I am impressed with his works. The faces he painted are attention grabbing and to say the least, unforgettable. This is one guy who knew at a young age of 18 that he wanted to dabble in the world of powder and brushes. This is one man who COULD but did not entertain the thought of going to university to get a certificate—just in case his dreams backfired.
Sometimes in life, we say with a sigh of resignation that Man does not live on dreams and aspirations alone. But throw in talent with the aforementioned two pre-requisite and voila! You get the formula for success. Luck follows a passionate being who cannot but impress all he meets.

Sometimes it takes an example like Zing to remind the average Singaporean parent that we don't all have to grow up aspiring to be a doctor/ lawyer/ engineer to be a national icon in our own right. We can be hairstylists, hip hop dancers, farmers, chefs, aedes mosquitoes researcher or waste treatment chemists (yes, doing the dirty job can mean BIG business).

“It doesn’t really matter what you do. Just be really good at it and you’ll find your wonderland.” ~I.V.Y.

When the Big Picture Isn’t Enough

Most of the people in this world are worker bees. We are born into a lifetime of labour. It’s scary, sad but true.
I don’t know if this wave of realization blindsides you on an unsuspecting workday. This is not a pleasant feeling I tell you.

And even if you are the queen bee, I am telling you, life’s not any sweeter even though you feed on royal jelly. You are doomed also to a lifetime of labour. What about the lazy drones, who exist for the purpose of sperm donation? They die upon mating.

And that pretty much sums it all up. The big picture? It ain’t pretty. Not for the insects and definitely not for us, the Homo sapiens.

To Dance in the Rain

I was making my way home in the rain today. As usual, I walked cautiously, keeping my eyes intently on the ground avoiding the water puddles. Much to my chagrin, I saw 3 young boys from a distance heading in my direction. They were chasing one another and kicking up the water from the big puddles.

“Oh crap. If the water gets onto me in their ‘fray’, I am so going to kill these boys.” I furrowed my brows at them and hoped for the best. Apparently, my intent to murder was written all over my face and it managed to stop one boy in his tracks, pre-empting his ‘attack’ on his friend.
I strode hastily past them and allowed them to continue their wet weather fun.

Behind me, laughter of merriment added much liveliness to the quiet neighbourhood. It made me feel like Scrooge in Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol”. On hindsight, I realized I am such an idiot.

The rain is lovely. It soothes our souls with raindrops from the heavens. It takes away the heat of the day and it refreshes the air. There is this coolness in every breath I inhale, the paths are deserted and it is indeed such a beautiful day. But what was I doing?

I was minding the puddles and clutching my pink Gucci bag as close to my body as possible for fear it may get too wet. I felt ridiculous there and then. In fact, it appeared awfully silly, now that I reflected upon my behaviour.

As I continued on my journey home, I remembered all the things I have deprived myself of:
1. I always carried an umbrella because I don’t like getting drenched in the rain.
2. I don’t play with cute animals nor dare to stroke their soft fur because I am afraid of the germs and bacteria that reside on their bodies.
3. I didn’t take a stroll barefooted on the white sandy beaches in Tasmania because I didn’t want to clean my feet after the walk.

Boy, am I a sad creature. I should learn to throw caution to the wind, enjoy the simple things in life and not care about inconsequential matters.

The Pursuit of Happiness

A mum was nursing her baby beneath a flyover. Watched as her elder son navigated through the traffic asking for donations from drivers as their vehicles stop at a busy road junction.

We wound down our window and handed him some spare change. “谢谢你,谢谢你!” He thanked us profusely and bowed his head a couple of times in gratitude before rapidly heading for another vehicle. Some drivers dismissed him with curt waves and soon the lights turned green and the flow of traffic resumed. He dashed nimbly to take shelter by his mother’s side and was on full alert for the next change in traffic lights.

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Dusk. Time to work. The neon lights lights up the neighbourhood. As people head quickly for the eateries to settle their fuss-free dinner, scantily clad girls sit prettily on their chairs looking out of their shops. Outside, passersby walk hastily by. The sun has set and the weather is too chilly to stay outdoors.

“休闲洗头, 按摩敲背”their shops advertise. “挂羊肉卖狗肉”. Shady transactions take place behind the closed doors of the salons. Yes, there’s happiness to be bought, just name a price.

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I was suddenly brought back to a distant memory of a conversation between a friend and I. “Singaporean girls are too greedy. You girls make endless demands. You want everything. Such a hard to please bunch! No wonder Singaporean men are settling for more docile brides from Vietnam and China!” There was contempt in his voice.

I sneered. “Greedy? Hard to please? Difficult?” Don’t even let me get started. The truth is as clear as day. The ready-to-marry brides that you get to pick from the photo folder. Yes, they loved you before they met you. How sweet.

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Happiness. A state of well being that people are inclined to pursue relentlessly. It means different things to different people.
But more importantly, the happiness we seek is never but the same.

A peasant girl escapes from her abusive father by marrying a boar of a farmer who treats her as a human producing factory. She feels glad she finally has a family to call her own. Paris Hilton is unhappy. She can buy all the handbags in the world and loads them into her swanky Bentley. Yet, all she wants for Christmas is a non droopy left eye.

Are we asking for too much? Or does the circumstance allow us to desire for more?
The pursuit of happiness is then a never ending journey; it’s just that we are on different paths.

Who are we to judge?

Beyond Beauty

This entry is inspired by my sister who asked me about the scar on her leg one Sunday evening. She had a bad fall recently and is healing a visible scar on one of her leg. Obviously I think that it’s just a matter of time before it fades away. However, she seems to be rather self conscious because of this temporary affliction and sought my opinion as to whether to don on short skirts while nursing that lesion.

Much cliché as it may sound, nobody’s physically perfect. Nicole Kidman has cellulite, Angelina Jolie has dry flaky lips, Britney Spears is pudgy and has acne and Zhang Ziyi has asymmetrical eyes. Beautiful celebrities have the means to do something to correct their flaws, but that does not mean such imperfections are nonexistent.

However, I am not going to spin out fluffy advice that confidence enhances one’s outwardly beauty. It does, but we still have to deal with our insecurities. I am not an advocate of maxims that are easier said than done.

What I would like to point out is that we have to embrace our flawed physical selves with the assurance that it’s not going to make us lesser beings in the eyes of those who love us.

Take a look at your favourite teddy. He looks rather crummy after so many years of silent companionship. Do you still love him? Do you discard your ‘smelly’ security blanket that has seen you through your childhood years? What about your limping dog plagued by arthritis brought on by age?
Does our love for any of these things lessen because they are no longer clean and new, bright and beautiful?
I hope your answer is a resounding NO.

Attraction is subjective. Different images move us to different degrees. Different people capture our attention and only a selected few take our breath away.

Why should your small eyes, troubled skin, frizzy hair and less than toned body bother you NOW when it is the entirety of your unique beauty that has enthralled your significant half? If we like what we see in you, why are you still so uncomfortable in your own skin? Why do you magnify your flaws when we barely even notice them?

When people relentlessly pursue an unrealistic standard of physical perfection, they unwittingly unleash their inner demons and allow them to run amok thus turning their lives topsy turvy. A person may look smashing at first glance but if she fusses about her weight during every meal, obsesses about being the most stunning person at every event, needs to take picture perfect photos all the time and plans with exact detail which body parts to change on her next visit to the plastic surgeon, it makes her the most insufferable person to be around.

And if a person cannot go beyond the surface to know the gem the lies in you, or look at you adoringly when you are stripped of face paint and other embellishment, then…it’s not real love, is it?

So quit being insecure and concentrate on basking in the affection you receive from those who love you—warts and all.

A gentle reminder

The following article is taken from the blog “Trisha Reloaded”. The author of this blog writes well, touches on issues we ought to draw our attention to and is one of my sources of inspiration.
I wouldn’t say this for my own writing but this article is good stuff and I hope that you will take 8 minutes of your precious time to read it.

2 hours that change me

I didn’t know what to expect. It was my first time visiting a one-room HDB flat. I had agreed to help bring a few students to visit a few of these homes that the school had adopted as part of the CIP (Community Involvement Programme). This should be good, I thought.

I wasn’t prepared for this. The walls were dotted with black splotches of what we were told were the droppings of bed bugs. We were warned not to remove our shoes, lean on the walls or sit on the floor. Mr Y sat on a stool and seemed nonchalant about the infestation in his home. The mattress he slept on bore testimony to the nightly battles he had to endure. The bed sheet was clouded with blood stains. Mr Y used to be a coolie who carried sacks of rice. The bachelor now lives alone in his decrepit rental flat, his emaciated body racked with sickness, the money he earned in his younger days long gone to feed his parents’ opium addiction many years ago. He gets $260 from the welfare agency every month, of which about $100 goes into paying his rent and utilities. The remainder he has to magically stretch to cover his food and medical costs.

The bugs had spread from next door to a few flats on the 5th floor where Mr Y lived. You could see them flitting about on the wall, on the floor, among his clothes, even along the corridors. Nobody there could afford a professional pestbuster, and the town council wouldn’t do such favours anyway. So living with these parasites has become a fact of life. Residents living on the other floors talked about the 5th floor as if it was Purgatory and it didn’t seem an inappropriate description.

Then there was 92-year-old Mdm C – so small and wiry she couldn’t have weighed more than 35kg. She had a hole in her neck where her voice box had been removed, so she couldn’t talk. When she saw us, she simply gestured with her hands that she wanted to die. Looking at her forlorn looking home, who could blame her for feeling that way? The food in her kitchen had all gone bad so we gathered she hadn’t eaten for days, or perhaps she had been eating all the rotten stuffs. When you are sick and have to depend on the kindness of neighbours to help you buy even the simplest food, what other choice do you have? She has 2 daughters, one who visits her occasionally. Another, we heard, comes by and steals the NTUC vouchers that volunteers give to her. Is it any wonder Mdm C would rather die?

In all, we visited 7 homes, each one with its own sad story to tell. My heart is exceedingly disturbed by the scenes I saw today. On the one hand, we live in a country that’s boasting of having island-wide free internet access soon and building world-class integrated resorts and yet, in pockets of this land which worships success and one-upmanship shamelessly, there are the forgotten lot who live in homes with rotten food and bug-infested beds.

I thought that by visiting the poor, I would be helping to cheer them up somewhat. How naïve I was. How arrogant I was to think that a simple 20 minute visit can alleviate the misery of people who have to face squalor every single moment of their lives and where sleep offers no respite either from the reality of their wretchedness. I thought I was doing community service. But no, something was done to me. Today, I felt as if the earth beneath my feet had shifted. In the days that follow, I would still go on to live my life of considerable comfort, plan my holidays, do Christmas shopping and enjoy the trappings of prosperity that I have been blessed with. But I could no longer plead ignorance of the shadowy existence of Mr Y, Mdm C and all these unfortunate people who live just a stone’s throw away from me. I find myself asking Him, “Lord, what will You have me do now?”

Tonight, as I crawl between my nice clean sheets, I think of Mr Y and how long the night will be for him. I saw real, in-your-face poverty and human misery today and I’m at a loss as to how to respond. Nothing I can do or say will ever be enough. And yet, if we don’t do anything, what kind of human beings are we?

* * * * * * * * *

Juxtaposed among my anguished thoughts about Mr Y and Mdm C is the noisy ranting of an 18-year-old college kid with her “elite uncaring face”. And this is what I want to say.There is no glory in being an elite. No honour in trumpeting one’s own success. For if not by a fortunate roll of the dice of life, any of us could end up like Mr Y or Mdm C. Any of us could be born into a family visited by sorrow upon sorrow, where circumstances work against you and fate tosses you around like sand, so that you can’t get out of the shit even if you want to. So for those of us in which life has been unbelievably kind to us, a good measure of gratitude and humility is called for. Survival of the fittest is the rule for the animal kingdom. Surely we are above the beasts? Surely we are meant to rise up higher? Instead of dashing to be the first, perhaps it is far nobler to slow down, and give a hand to the downtrodden, the unfortunate, the unskilled, the retrenched, the slower, the old, the sickly and the poor. When we can restore even a modicum of dignity to our fellow beings who have no hope, surely that makes us more human.


Stirred by what you have just read? Like the writing? Please check out "Trisha Reloaded" for more inspiring entries.

Sudden death

I am sorry to learn of my friend’s father sudden demise. He was found sleeping by a member of the family. My heart goes out to my friend. In fact, I feel upset by the news.

Our local media has in recent times been running a series of advertisements to increase society’s awareness of hospice care and its patients. I remembered making a personal comment about that.

I would rather, like a hospice patient, live out the remaining of my life knowing the estimated time of my eventual death.

True. The suffering would be prolonged, the fear of impending death scary, and the sorrow of leaving my loved ones painful. But, there will be certainty in the knowledge of my departure. And like a deadline, I can work out my plans around the timeline.

Tie up loose ends, tell everyone of significance that I love them, give them hugs, talk to them, arrange for my funeral details. Write a short will and spend my money meaningfully. If there was enough time, I want to travel a bit. At least allow me the privilege of making it to Alaska to see the Northern Lights.

I rather suffer more than leave this world abruptly. Selfish as it may seem (since others suffer alongside a terminally ill person and savings will be depleted at alarming rates for treatment purposes), I really want to die after receiving an issued notice. The ideal situation would be that God tells us the age we will leave for his Kingdom. Wouldn’t we all speed up our pace and try to do everything we desire?

But that’s impossible. So wise men adhere to the maxim of "Making the most out of each day." (I almost wanted to say "Carpe Diem" but it is not as accurate).

A wake-up call for me indeed.

PS:And nope, I shan't touch on the fragility of life today, that's too heavy...

One shouldn’t attempt to read too much…especially online

I was browsing through a very credible blog written by a group of intelligent women. Well-written entries aside, I scrolled down the links of sites they ‘recommend’ (or follow themselves).

Consummate authors are inclined towards equally good writings. Right? NO…

Wrong assumption.

This particular link is awful. Not in the literary sense. But the content is immoral.

Crap, I am such a prude. But still, it is disconcerting to actually read about the sexual exploits of a gang-bang partaker, who is living life in the hard and fast lane of Singapore.
Ew……

Call me a late bloomer, but certain words are not found in my rather expansive vocabulary. Till much, much later. Take today’s encounter for one.

Apparently the pursuit of enlightenment doesn’t always lead me to Nirvana. Since the pursuit is a never-ending journey, sometimes, the path I stumble upon introduces me to a scintillating world of debauchery. A realm I never knew existed. A world plagued with depraved values and one which engages in repugnant activities.

I don’t lie; I am fascinated with the on-goings that takes place in this land of merry-making. I peered in from outside, and observe for a while. It’s repulsive reality playing on this channel. Freaky, crazy, true.

This itinerant moves on soon after. It exists, now I know. But this is not my paradise.

God of Small Things…Sprinkle the Seeds of Contentment

It’s been a terrible weekend so far. I have been feeling rather crabby all night. However, I don’t take it out on people when I am in any sort of foul mood. Usually it takes like a few hours for the ill feelings to dissipate. In the meantime, I tend to keep to myself and read stuff.

I once was a naïve little girl who thought herself as an unhappy person. I was painfully trying to calculate the number of instances I felt happy. In a day, there are 24 hours, 18 of which I am awake. So, taking 18 x 7 (days a week), there are potentially 126 hours for me to experience a state of bliss.
When I did the sums, I was appalled to discover that I was greatly lacking in the happiness quotient. Sometimes, I wonder whether I was even happy for 1 full hour in a week.
Was my definition of happiness too unattainable? Or is my life really devoid of mirth?
Upset, I sought to rationalize my perceived predicament.

Then, an accidental encounter with a sage lifted my rain cloud.

Me: I think I am chronically unhappy. Do you think you are a happy person?
Sage: I am neither happy nor unhappy most of the time.
Me: Ah, isn’t it difficult to capture happiness then?
Sage: We can’t experience happiness all the time. In fact, not being unhappy is good enough.
Me: How can it be good enough? (I felt indignant)
Sage: It is. I don’t feel particularly happy, but I feel contented. That in itself is a type of happiness.

A wave of realization hit me. The source of my affliction: I was too greedy.

What's Simple Is True

The Little Prince

The excerpt below is my favourite chapter in “The Little Prince”.
It’s actually a children’s book but ironically, only grown-ups can truly understand the meaning behind the story.
But some adults have not fully grasped the meaning of life, friendship and love. This story helps to bring these intangible stuff into perspective.

Read the chapter below slowly in a conducive environment. I am sure you will find your answer to some questions you have been seeking.

Chapter Setting:

The Little Prince is a being from an asteroid known as B-612. He took care of a beautiful rose and loved her dearly while he was there. He thought she was the one and only in this world. Upon his visit to Earth, he realized that there are in fact, many roses like her around. He was upset to learn that she was not ‘special’ nor ‘unique’. He had a common rose after all!

He started crying…

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It was then that the fox appeared.

"Good morning," said the fox.
"Good morning," the little prince responded politely, although when he turned around he saw nothing.
"I am right here," the voice said, "under the apple tree."

"Who are you?" asked the little prince, and added, "You are very pretty to look at."
"I am a fox," the fox said.
"Come and play with me," proposed the little prince. "I am so unhappy."
"I cannot play with you," the fox said. "I am not tamed."
"Ah! Please excuse me," said the little prince.

But, after some thought, he added:
"What does that mean--'tame'?"
"You do not live here," said the fox. "What is it that you are looking for?"
"I am looking for men," said the little prince. "What does that mean--'tame'?"

"Men," said the fox. "They have guns, and they hunt. It is very disturbing. They also raise chickens. These are their only interests. Are you looking for chickens?"

"No," said the little prince. "I am looking for friends. What does that mean--'tame'?"

"It is an act too often neglected," said the fox. It means to establish ties."
"'To establish ties'?"

"Just that," said the fox. "To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you, I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world . . ."

"I am beginning to understand," said the little prince. "There is a flower . . . I think that she has tamed me."

"It is possible," said the fox. "On the Earth one sees all sorts of things."
"Oh, but this is not on the Earth!" said the little prince.
The fox seemed perplexed, and very curious.
"On another planet?"
"Yes."
"Are there hunters on that planet?"
"No."
"Ah, that is interesting! Are there chickens?"
"No."
"Nothing is perfect," sighed the fox.

But he came back to his idea.
"My life is very monotonous," the fox said. "I hunt chickens; men hunt me. All the chickens are just alike, and all the men are just alike. And, in consequence, I am a little bored. But if you tame me, it will be as if the sun came to shine on my life. I shall know the sound of a step that will be different from all the others. Other steps send me hurrying back underneath the ground. Yours will call me, like music, out of my burrow. And then look: you see the grain-fields down yonder?

I do not eat bread. Wheat is of no use to me. The wheat fields have nothing to say to me. And that is sad. But you have hair that is the color of gold. Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me! The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat . . ."

The fox gazed at the little prince, for a long time.

"Please--tame me!" he said.
"I want to, very much," the little prince replied. "But I have not much time. I have friends to discover, and a great many things to understand."

"One only understands the things that one tames," said the fox. "Men have no more time to understand anything. They buy things all ready made at the shops. But there is no shop anywhere where one can buy friendship, and so men have no friends any more. If you want a friend, tame me . . ."

"What must I do, to tame you?" asked the little prince.
"You must be very patient," replied the fox. "First you will sit down at a little distance from me--like that--in the grass. I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing. Words are the source of misunderstandings. But you will sit a little closer to me, every day . . ."


The next day the little prince came back.

"It would have been better to come back at the same hour," said the fox. "If, for example, you come at four o'clock in the afternoon, then at three o'clock I shall begin to be happy. I shall feel happier and happier as the hour advances. At four o'clock, I shall already be worrying and jumping about. I shall show you how happy I am! But if you come at just any time, I shall never know at what hour my heart is to be ready to greet you . . . One must observe the proper rites."

"What is a rite?" asked the little prince.

"Those also are actions too often neglected," said the fox. "They are what make one day different from other days, one hour from other hours. There is a rite, for example, among my hunters. Every Thursday they dance with the village girls. So Thursday is a wonderful day for me! I can take a walk as far as the vineyards. But if the hunters danced at just any time, every day would be like every other day, and I should never have any vacation at all."

So the little prince tamed the fox. And when the hour of his departure drew near--
"Ah," said the fox, "I shall cry."
"It is your own fault," said the little prince. "I never wished you any sort of harm; but you wanted me to tame you . . ."
"Yes, that is so," said the fox.
"But now you are going to cry!" said the little prince.
"Yes, that is so," said the fox.
"Then it has done you no good at all!"

"It has done me good," said the fox, "because of the color of the wheat fields." And then he added:
"Go and look again at the roses. You will understand now that yours is unique in all the world. Then come back to say goodbye to me, and I will make you a present of a secret."

The little prince went away, to look again at the roses.

"You are not at all like my rose," he said. "As yet you are nothing. No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one. You are like my fox when I first knew him. He was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made him my friend, and now he is unique in all the world."

And the roses were very much embarassed.

"You are beautiful, but you are empty," he went on. "One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you--the rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except the two or three that we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or ever sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose.

And he went back to meet the fox.
"Goodbye," he said.
"Goodbye," said the fox. "And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."

"What is essential is invisible to the eye," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.

"It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important."
"It is the time I have wasted for my rose--" said the little prince, so that he would be sure to remember.
"Men have forgotten this truth," said the fox. "But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose . . ."

"I am responsible for my rose," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.

Excerpt from the Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery

View of the World through Tinted Vision

Disclaimer: Nope, this is not a post on racial discrimination. But yes, it is still colour coded.

I have dark eyes. Very dark eyes. I once thought my eyes were black, but then again, no one has black eyes (unless he has been punched). Asians have dark brown irises framing their black pupils.

When I smile, it seems like the whites around my eyes diminish and they turn all dark.
When I glare, a visible glint flashes across the dark orbs.

The point, however, is that I don’t really care much about the colour of my eyes. Sure, Nicole Kidman’s piercing blue eyes are striking, but then again; big or small, brown or blue, as long as they are expressive, I find them very beautiful.

Then, one fine day… I sold out.

Blame it on advertising, blame it on media exposure, blame it on a moment of weakness, blame it on vanity. Blame it on a certain Girl from Mars who made colored contacts cool. And it wasn’t that expensive to experiment a little. So, I went to my optician and bought my first box of contacts for $25 SGD. Warm Hazel Brown coloured contacts.

Mind you, I have very sensitive eyes. They tear whenever any foreign object is used around them—especially eyeliners. And remember? I can never aim eye drops into my eyes accurately. So how in the world am I ever going to don on contact lens? I have been wearing spectacles all my life! (most of the time, I just don't wear glasses at all, cos I am not very myopic)

To cut the long story short, I managed to put them onto my eyeballs after several tries and WOW! I was initially skeptical that those flimsy soft lens can change my eyes from virtually black to a light brown. I am impressed. My eyes looked significantly different. I felt my cool factor rise from a negligible 0.05 to a 3.

And many people found the change rather refreshing. Maybe I have been too drab. Apparently, the hazel eyed girl gets more fun than the ‘black’ eyed girl.

Soon, the novelty wore off—from my side. What originally felt like an ego trip to look like the lady from Venus quickly took a downward plunge. A tiny voice nags softly at my conscience. “Phony, phony phony…” it whispers. I tried to ignore it. After all, I reasoned that I had to get my 25 bucks’ worth of wear before discarding them 1 month later.

Unbeknownst to me, the trigger will pulled shortly after to end this internal struggle. I was in a public restroom washing my hands when I looked up. A girl with reddish hazel eyes stared back at me. Her eyes felt mighty uncomfortable and scratchy. If they could talk, they would be screaming in agony for oxygen for all and sundry to hear.

That was the moment of truth. That image of myself. The freak with reddish hazel coloured eyes.

I wanted to peel the contacts out from my eyes on the spot and flush them down the toilet bowl with aplomb.
But since my actual cool factor was 0.05 (out of 10), I kept them on and gingerly took them off when I got home.

It’s ironic that I saw things more clearly without the coloured lens. I saw the stupidity of it all. Those lenses are too artificial to look natural. We can all spot phonies from a mile. A change in eye colour may add interest and draw attention to ourselves but at the end of the day, who are we fooling? Our vain pretentious selves. Let me reel over and puke at myself.

Don’t get me wrong:
** I DO NOT mind people wearing coloured lenses. I have absolutely nothing against them.

It’s a personal thing. I Just Cannot Bring Myself to Live a Lie.

My desired happiness

He who has health, has hope; and he who has hope, has everything. --Thomas Carlyle

I am sick. I’ve caught the flu bug and am down with a host of other related symptoms that this pesky virus brings. Fever, sore throat, the nose runs. At least my nose is not blocked. That’s a blessing in disguise. I don’t think I can go around breathing through my mouth and sleep would be impossible.

If there’s something that we underrate, it has got to be good health. If, by a stroke of incredible luck, one is granted 1 wish, I am sure that riches, beauty, happiness and wisdom come before the thought of health.

When one is healthy, one is fit enough to survive in this world. One will not be unhappy and bedridden, one will be able to think better, learn faster, look more radiant, and work harder. Health is wealth? I think it is even more than that, don’t you all agree? A healthy mind and body is the prerequisite to achieving many other things we deem important.